There was nothing there.
Almond stood on the low rise and reached for her name again, and again, the way a man pats his pockets for a key he knows he had a moment ago. He could see her face. He could see her hands holding his on the wall. He could see her smile.
He could not find her name.
"No," he said. His voice came out strange. "No, no, no. I had it. I had it this morning."
A heavy hand closed on his shoulder.
"Look at your arm," Big D said.
Almond looked down.
On the inside of his wrist, in large, careful letters, written in charcoal, was a word.
LILY.
And under it: ONE.
It came back like a door flying open. Her name. Her voice. The faint line of light that said one. The tower in Brightwater. The first night on the march, when she had held his hand against her stomach in the dark.
Almond's knees almost went. Big D held him up.
"Lily," Almond said. He said it twice, out loud, to make sure. "Her name is Lily."
